‘It’s been my hideout for the longest time. Not even Raven knows it’s here. I don’t think anyone does. Except you.’ ‘Why would you show me...’ I asked her, curious. ‘We’re not close anymore.’ She shrugged. ‘A writer needs a quiet place to write.’ Surprised, I smiled. ‘You remembered?’ ‘Never forgot,’ she replied. ‘I used to love reading your stuff. It always seemed like you knew me.’ ‘I did,’ I said. ‘Then.’ We exchanged a quick glance and I looked around the room. It looked like it used to be an. The womenfolk on the wagons retreated a bit further into the shadows of the interiors unless they were actually driving and our Indians managed to look a little less Indian and a little more like dirty, dusty figures on horseback.Fortunately, the vast majority of the flotsam and jetsam of unwashed masses of humanity ebbing and flowing in and out of the flimsy tents and into the murky alleys leading away from the solid anchor of the track were in some sort of trance like shell-shocked survivors. More

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